What really saved that Ukrainian climber was the fact that he came to Everest with a team, a real team, where they look out for one another and even suffer for each other. Their team is different from our team, without a doubt. Their vision of what makes for a summit opportunity is different. Their willingness to accept risk goes far beyond ours. We are easily reminded that growing up Ukrainian in the last 40 years was not like growing up American. All of that aside—and to appreciate one another it must all be pushed aside—they are a climbing team with amazing devotion to one another.

					"When Andy reported the man's eyes rolling back in his head with the pain of his thawing hands and feet, I could 'rest' no longer. I got my boots on and headed for Russell's camp..."

So when the summit team of three got in trouble a few days back, the Ukrainians had another two teams high on the mountain and headed up to help. That made a big difference. Even so, the Northeast Ridge took its toll. What seems to have happened is that the three got somewhat separated in the storm on their descent. It is too easy and frightening to think how this might have happened on nearly a mile of discontinuous ledges and traverses above 28,000'. It did happen.

Slava, the powerful and experienced leader of the trio, fought his way down to High Camp late in the evening. His partners spent the night out. In the morning, with the other Ukrainian team pushing hard to get to the area, Slava apparently pushed all the way back up to the First Step, still without oxygen (none of the three had used it on the climb) to find one of his partners immobile there. There was no sign of the third climber. Slava and the other Ukrainians got the injured man, snow blind, with frozen extremities, down to High Camp that day—a fairly monumental effort by any stretch of the imagination.

Yesterday was the day for the main effort though. High Camp, pressed hard against the Yellow Band at 8300 meters, is an obscene place to be injured, even with the benefit of donated oxygen from other teams (as they didn't have any of their own). As the injured climber was helped down, through a seemingly endless day, our team arrived in ABC and began to become involved.

Involvement meant the usual exposure to some bizarre reactions. I could go on for pages about the ugly and worthless reactions. That would all probably make great news, but I'm not in the news business and not really so interested in dwelling on the people who wanted money for their rescue services, or on the "teams" that decided that this struggle did not involve them or affect their climbing schedule. It is all too expected these days to see the many individuals on common permits throw up their hands when something goes wrong and claim (correctly) that they have no resources that could possibly be of any use to anyone.

Personally, I found myself much more interested yesterday in the way people came together and put their climbing goals and business interests and physical limitations aside. When Eric and I reached ABC from Camp II, it was in time to attend a meeting that Russell [Brice] hosted, pooling medical resources, counting heads, and assigning roles. I was proud that the key role of technical "rope" lowering from the North Col would go to our climbers. I was impressed that Russell would organize the mountain equivalent of a hospital room in his ABC tent. I was inspired when an Italian climber returning from his day's work, upon being appraised of the situation, consented eagerly to repacking his bag and heading back up for rescue work.

The day dragged on somewhat surrealistically, there was no sense to rushing up and exhausting ourselves going high while the injured man was making steady, but slow, progress downward with the help of the Georgian team's six Sherpas. Everybody took strategic naps through the afternoon, forcing their thoughts away from the complications that a litter case on the vertical ice of the Col would entail. All involved waited through the more civilized, sunny hours of the afternoon, knowing that their contributions would not be worthwhile until the cold and clumsy middle of the night.

Finally, in the early evening, with maddeningly little information coming from Slava and his injured companion, our strongest climbers headed for the North Col. Silvio, the Italian mountain rescue pro from Monte Rosa took off in a valiant effort to pace Conrad Anker. Jake, Tap, and Andy went trudging toward their work with our Italian-American neighbor, Fabrizzio. They reached the Col as the rest of us hunkered down to wait and be ready for the expected awkward carry from the base of the Col over the moraines to Base Camp. Darkness and cold came on long before any of us wanted on such a day. It began to be apparent that the injured Ukrainian would not even be at the Col until close to 10pm. We at ABC hunkered down in our sleeping bags with our radios warm against our chests. I dozed as I listened to the progress of the meeting between rescuers up at 23,000'.

					"I reflected that this was absolutely the worst rest I could possibly be getting for our upcoming summit bid. But hearing Conrad, Jake, Tap, and Andy calmly giving out rope commands via radio on the dark Col, I was very proud to be walking in their direction..."

Amazingly, Slava was uninjured, but also strained past reasonable limits by four days without sleep or adequate oxygen. The injured man was being assessed to figure a course for the night. Was he stable enough to spend the night on the Col, thus saving a number of people from the added risks of ropework on vertical terrain in the dark? Or was he at imminent risk of deteriorating, forcing some tough decisions? When Andy reported the man's eyes rolling back in his head with the pain of his thawing hands and feet, I could 'rest' no longer. I got my boots on and headed for Russell's camp with Thom to gather with the litter carriers. The decision was made that the man needed to be brought down in the night....But we still needed to wait in awkward silence, drinking Russell's tea. If we went too early to the flat glacier below the Col, we'd freeze into uselessness waiting in the dark for the lowering team.

Finally, when they'd begun the belaying and lowering and rappelling—the stretcher passing over gaping crevasses, we set out into the dark in lightly falling snow. As Thom and I marched by headlight through the night, I reflected that this was absolutely the worst rest I could possibly be getting for our upcoming summit bid. But hearing Conrad, Jake, Tap, and Andy calmly giving out rope commands via radio on the dark Col, I was very proud to be walking in their direction. They worked remarkably fast and efficiently. We were hard pressed, leaving at 11:30pm, to have our spikes on and be there at the glacier's head to meet them when they'd finished the technical lowering.

Perhaps 20 climbers, cooks, and Sherpas from various expeditions quickly took the litter from the lowering team and headed for the rugged moraine. My feeling was that it was difficult prying the rope handles away from the lowering boys. I watched Silvio relinquish his hold on a key handle, only to grab another one on the opposite side 15 seconds later. I found myself sweating and stumbling along, ready to lose my hold, only to realize that Appa Sherpa, nine-time summitter of Mt. Everest, was quietly steadying me and taking my place on the litter.

We made it into ABC at 2:30am, turning over our climber to the Ukrainian doctor and hopefully all the right moves. He'll need them, 21,000 feet above sea level in the mountains of Tibet is by no means home-free. But last night, it was time for a break from rescues and mountains. It was the perfect time to enjoy Pemba's fried eggs and rice with a graciously offered cup of tea.

We sat together with Eric and thought back on another long day's events in the Himalayas. I looked around at my partners and remembered reason #231 of why I climb. As I recall from normal life, heroes are seldom seen up close and personal. In fact, where I work at Mount Rainier, I have to drive all the way down to the big city, buy a ticket and a $6 beer, and sit way up in the stands in the hopes that Ken Griffey Jr. will smack one over the wall and give me a long distance look at greatness. Here, I just look over my tea cup and see heroes everyday.

—Dave Hahn, Climber

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